


Black Honey

by okapi



Series: Your Extra Time and Your Kiss [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Lestrade, Fem!Sherlock, Fem!mycroft, Femslash, Genderswap, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Male!Mrs. Hudson - Freeform, Mutual Masturbation, Sexting, Shopping, Tribbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1515455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John ships Mystrade. All genderswapped. </p><p>Inspired by Clinique <a href="http://www.clinique.com/product/1605/4772/Makeup/Lipsticks/Almost-Lipstick/index.tmpl">Almost Lipstick in Black Honey</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wardrobe Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the morning after [A Frankly Alarming Shade of Pink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1503194). In my genderswapped AU, Lestrade and John are Catholic and went to Catholic school together as girls. Their backstory is described in [Friends Forever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1248886).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John proposes a shopping trip. 
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Buxom [Full-on Lip Tarnish in Wardrobe Malfunction](http://www.bareescentuals.com/Buxom-Big-Healthy-Lip-Tarnish/USmasterBXliptarnish,default,pd.html).

“The last time that you and I went shopping for lipstick, Sister Mary Francis confiscated our purchase and beat _me_ with a ruler.”

“Mycroft is not going to take your lipstick. The ruler beating, however, can probably be negotiated if you’re keen.”

Lestrade and John stood side-by-side, both with arms crossed, watching Sherlock flutter around the crime scene like a Belstaff-winged moth. The body of a corpulent, jowly woman in her 60s lay in the middle of the bedroom. Early morning streamed through the window, lighting the dried blood across the torso.

“Housekeeper,” said Lestrade. “Family’s on holiday.” She lowered her voice, “John, it’s not a date; it’s just coffee.”

“Exactly,” whispered John. “A beverage. Something you _drink_. With your mouth. Hence, the need for some nice, new lipstick.”

“Alright. If this case wraps up quickly, I will sneak out of the chiefs’ morning briefing—“

“—which you abhor—“

“—which I abhor—and meet you down the street from headquarters.”

“Fair enough.”

“C’mon, Sherlock. Give me what you’ve got,” said Lestrade. “I need to let these people,” she pointed to the blue-plastic-suited SOCOs hovering impatiently at the door, “get to work.”

Sherlock snapped her magnifying lens closed.

“Very well.” Sherlock strode sideways until she was standing in front of an enormous antique armoire.

Like a magician with a deck of cards, she pulled a hairpin from her head and showed it to Lestrade and John. She put it behind her back.

“In the fashion of a certain board game, which John has unfairly banned from our domicile…”

Greg turned to John.

“Don’t ask,” muttered John.

Metal rattled.

“It was the husband, in the wardrobe, with the knife!” Sherlock flung open the door and out tumbled a small, blood-stained man clutching a carving knife.

“I hated her! I hated her! She was always nagging! Do this! Do that! Nothing was every good enough!”

For an instant, Lestrade and John stared open-mouthed at the man, curled in a ball, sobbing on the floor at Sherlock’s feet.

Sherlock gave a dramatic bow to the crowd at the door—two of whom _clapped_ —turned up her coat collar and strode out of the room.

“10ish. I’ll text you when I’m leaving the office,” said Lestrade under her breath.

John nodded.

“John!” called Sherlock.

As John made her way quickly down the staircase, she heard Lestrade's voice boom.

“DONOVAN! DEAL WITH THIS POOR SOD! AND I WANT TO KNOW WHICH ONE OF YOU TOSSERS WAS IN CHARGE OF SECURING THE BLOODY CRIME SCENE! WHOEVER IT IS, YOUR TRANSFER REQUEST AND YOUR LEFT BOLLOCK BETTER BE ON MY DESK BY 10 O’CLOCK OR…”


	2. Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The taxi ride home from the crime scene, John makes a deduction, and Sherlock mentions bees.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Urban Decay [Revolution Lipstick in Venom](http://www.urbandecay.com/urban-decay/lipstick%2C-lip-stain-%26-gloss/revolution-lipstick/378.html).

The taxi was inching through morning traffic. Precipitation—too light to be called rain and too heavy to be called mist—streaked the window. John tapped her fingers against the leather seat. She stopped and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked up from her mobile.

They both erupted into laughter.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!” giggled John.

“This is exactly why we need a rating system, John. That was clearly—and I am being very generous—a 1.”

“Ha, ha, HA! Okay, Sherlock. Christ.”

John tugged her shirt sleeve at the wrist and wiped her eyes with it. She took the handkerchief that Sherlock proffered.

“Thank you.”

“Open-and-shut domestic,” said Sherlock. “Quite literally.”

John howled. Between choking breaths, she said,

“Not. Worth. Your. Time.”

Sherlock’s voice sank an octave, “Definitely not worth leaving _your_ bed.”

John’s laughter died. She raised an eyebrow and raked her eyes down Sherlock’s body to the charcoal grey pencil skirt peeking out from the coat.

Sherlock fiddled with her mobile, not looking up. “The answer to your question is no.”

“How can you possibly…?” said John, looking out the window. She closed her eyes and squeezed her brow between two fingers.

John’s mobile beeped.

**No knickers. SH**

John swallowed.

_Beep!_

**In case you want to touch. Or taste. SH**

John turned red and stared out the window. Traffic was not moving.

_Beep!_

**Wet. SH**

_Beep!_

**Aching. SH**

_Beep!_

**Please, John. SH**

“BLOODY TRAFFIC!” roared John. She turned her head and caught Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock’s pupils were blown dark. John shot her a desperate look.

“Here’s fine. We can walk,” said Sherlock quickly to the driver. John fumbled with her wallet and eventually just shoved a crumpled wad of bills into the man’s hands.

Oblivious to the drizzle, they hurried. John focused on keeping up with Sherlock’s long stride; even hobbled by very high-heeled shoes, the detective outpaced her.

They passed a familiar secluded side street, and John raised her eyebrows.

Sherlock smirked. “Another time. We’re only two blocks away.”

The two blocks flew past, and hasty ‘Good morning's were thrown at Mr. Hudson as they climbed the stairs.

When John reached the top…

_WHAM!_

The force of one consulting detective slamming into John might have knocked her over if she weren’t cocked and ready like a loaded revolver.

Testament to frequent practice, both women were able to deftly remove their outerwear and hang the garments on hooks without breaking their kiss.

John toed off her shoes and socks and twined her hands around Sherlock’s neck. She cupped Sherlock’s head and set about sending a cascade of hairpins clinking to the floor. “God, you’re gorgeous,” she hummed as she drew the dark curls loose. Then her hands roamed south, gripping Sherlock’s arse hard, and traveling to the hem of the skirt. She wrenched it up, trying to slip her hands beneath the fabric.

“No knickers, no knickers, no knickers,” she chanted. But the skirt was tight and with a few strong tugs, the tell-tale pops of rending threads could be heard. John stopped and grunted in frustration.

“Sod the skirt!” snarled Sherlock. John chuckled and yanked. Seams ripped. When John’s fingers felt bare bottom, both women groaned loudly.

“Sherlock! Yes! Yes, yes, yes! This is what I wanted all morning.” She caressed and kneaded Sherlock’s buttocks, then slipped behind Sherlock and fell to a squat, licking and biting her rump. “Oh, God, yes!” she hummed into Sherlock’s skin. “Lovely, lovely.”

Sherlock unzipped the skirt and shimmied out of it. Then, she turned to face John, swaying her hips, moving backwards, unbuttoning her blouse slowly.

“You wanted it, John, all morning?” she sang.

“Yes,” John said as she fell to all fours and crawled, following Sherlock.

“At the crime scene?”

“Yes.” John grinned.

“In the taxi?”

“Yes.” John licked her lips at the sight of Sherlock’s cleavage and plum-coloured bra.

“In the alley?”

“Yes.” John pulled off her jumper and left it behind.

Sherlock’s hips hit the edge of the desk, and she dropped the blouse behind her.

“Come and get it.” Sherlock opened her legs. John lunged. She put her mouth to Sherlock’s cunt and without preamble, thrust her tongue inside.

“John!”

“Is that what you wanted, Sherlock?” she teased, rubbing Sherlock’s pubic hair with her nose. She gave Sherlock’s folds a kitten lick.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

John traced Sherlock’s labia with the tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry. What was it you wanted?”

“Fuck me, John!” wailed Sherlock.

John put her tongue back in Sherlock’s cunt. She hoisted one of Sherlock’s legs over her shoulder and thrust deeper. Sherlock arched into her mouth.

After some minutes, Sherlock was keening. “What about this clit?” murmured John. “It needs some attention.” John kissed Sherlock’s clit gently.

“No, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to come yet.”

John kissed Sherlock’s clit softly and smiled into her inner thigh. She rubbed her face along the soft, creamy skin. She took the leg over her shoulder in both hands and lifted it. She kissed the back of Sherlock’s knee. She caressed Sherlock’s calf and ankle. She removed Sherlock’s strappy stiletto and began to massage her heel and arch. She looked up to drink in Sherlock’s wet cunt and wanton expression.

“John,” rumbled Sherlock.

John stopped her massage to press a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s foot, feeling the quivering pulse beneath her lips. She took up the other foot. She removed the shoe and frowned.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmmm?”

“You knew.”

“Hmm?”

“You knew the case was a 1. Or else you wouldn’t have worn these shoes.”

Sherlock gave her a wide smile. It was a rare, fleeting one: sincere and open, full of pride, wonder, and, yes, love. Then, her face returned to something more quotidian.

“I thought you might want to speak with Lestrade in person,” she said, in a low, but matter-of-fact tone. “Given how excited you were about the new development…”

John stared at her. Then, she stood up. She took Sherlock’s head in her hands and looked deep into her eyes and with all the sentiment she could express—which was a fraction of what she felt—said,

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” She kissed her and then hid her face in Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock wrapped her arms tightly around John. They remained in the silent embrace until finally, Sherlock said,

“Bees.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to retire to Sussex and keep bees.”

John lifted her head and nodded.

Sherlock added, “I…want _you_ to be there. If you want…”

“Naturally. Where else would I be?” replied John.

Sherlock exhaled. Her shoulders dropped.

“Good. That’s…good.”


	3. Lovecraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cost of repairing a window curtain is added to the rent (aka Sexytimes Part 1)
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Kat Von D [Painted Love Lipstick in Lovecraft](http://www.sephora.com/painted-love-lipstick-P211912).

Sherlock stroked John’s cheek tenderly.

“John, you cannot fathom what I would do for you. I know you can’t fathom it because I can scarcely understand the entirety of it myself.”

“In that case, for the moment, let’s forget what you would do _for_ me and focus on what you’re going to do _to_ me. Right. Now,” countered John with a lascivious smirk.

“Ravish you. Thoroughly.”

Sherlock flipped the desk chair and sat down, pulling John into her lap. She held John’s head still and devoured her lips with warm, wet kisses. She nibbled down John’s neck to the juncture of her shoulder. She worried a spot with teeth and tongue, all the while unbuttoning John’s jeans and reaching inside to shift John’s pelvis to closer hers. John hummed. Two pairs of hips found their rhythm and ground against each other. John undid Sherlock’s bra and dropped it to the floor. She squeezed Sherlock’s breasts and then toyed with her nipples. When they were pebbled, she bent to cover one with her lips. She sucked, and Sherlock groaned.

“John. _John!_ ”

John turned in Sherlock’s lap and leaned back against her. Sherlock cupped one of John's breasts under her vest and slipped her other hand down the front of John's jeans, atop her underpants.

“Like that, do you?” asked John, writhing, reaching back to wind her fingers in Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock grunted and bit John’s neck.

“Tits?” asked John.

Sherlock pinched John’s nipple. John squeaked. Then, Sherlock rubbed it lightly with the pad of her thumb.

“Cunt?”

Sherlock cupped John roughly through her pants. John squirmed and lifted her hips.

“Like to watch?”

“You. Just you, John. Always you. Only you.” Sherlock nuzzled behind John’s ear, biting, licking all the skin that she could reach, breathing in John's scent.

When John stood up and stepped away, Sherlock was panting. John turned and slowly drew her vest up. Sherlock reached a hand out.

“John.”

John stopped. Sherlock nodded toward the window. Only a thin wisp of fabric obscured John from view. John curled the drape around her arm and ripped, sending the whole ensemble clattering to the floor.

“Let ‘em see. Let the whole fucking block see. How much I want you. How well you fuck your bitch in heat. How you drive me crazy, absolutely mad, with lust.” Sherlock stared as John turned, back to the window, threw her vest off and put her hands behind her head.

Sherlock growled and covered John’s body with her own. She licked and bit up and down both sides of John’s neck. She curled her arms around John’s buttocks and lifted her. John locked her ankles around Sherlock’s waist. They plod slowly across the room as a single unit and plopped down onto the sofa. John lifted high off Sherlock’s lap, cupping her breast and thrusting it into Sherlock’s greedy mouth.

“Suck!” pleaded John. Sherlock obliged, sucking hard until a thin sheen of perspiration broke across John’s forehead. Sherlock’s mouth sought the other nipple.

“Tits,” said Sherlock, breathlessly. John crowed.

“Cunt,” continued Sherlock. John stood up quickly and stripped off her jean and pants.

Sherlock adjusted their legs and thighs until wet cunts were slotted perfectly. They moaned in unison.

“Watching you” growled Sherlock, “watching me fucking you.” John ground her hips ruthlessly into Sherlock.

“Oh, God! Oh, God, Sherlock! It’s there. It’s _there_. Are you close? Please tell me that you’re close.”

“Yes, yes. John!”

John cried out and sunk her teeth into Sherlock’s neck. Seconds later, Sherlock echoed the cry and gesture. They breathed into each other’s mouths.

“John.”

“Sherlock.”

When their collective breathing slowed, Sherlock smiled. John reached for two pillows and the blanket from the back of the sofa. She arranged them in a slope on one end. She traced Sherlock’s lips with a finger, which Sherlock bit playfully. John leaned close and whispered,

“More.”


	4. I Want Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John hints at the power of Mystrade shipping on the libido (Sexytimes Part 2)
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Too Faced [La Crème Color Drenched Lipstick in I Want Candy](http://www.toofaced.com/p/lipsticks/la-creme/bumbleberry-satin-garnet/).

“More,” said John.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. John twisted her legs across Sherlock’s lap. She took Sherlock’s hand in hers and brought Sherlock’s hand between her legs and leaned back. She raised one knee.

“Show me,” said Sherlock thickly. John took Sherlock’s index finger and traced her folds slowly, steadily. After one pass, John removed her hand, and Sherlock continued the caress. John leaned back along the sofa and put the hands behind her head.

“Don’t stop,” said John.

“My dear girl,” replied Sherlock. “Why on earth would I _stop_?” John hummed and splayed her legs wider, giving Sherlock a debauched smile.

“Jesus Christ, that’s good,” sighed John.

“Faster? Deeper?” Sherlock’s finger never waivered from its circling.

John shook her head.

“You are wonderfully, wonderfully…,” Sherlock groaned.

“Wet,” finished John. She trailed her hands up her torso and stretched her arms above her head.

“This pornographic display is quite _fetching_.” Sherlock leered down John’s naked form with unabashed lust.

“Tart,” said John breezily.

“Slag,” countered Sherlock, her voice was low and warm and dripping with affection.

“Slapper.”

“Trollop.”

“Minx.”

“Strumpet.”

John giggled.

“Uhhh…wench.”

“ _Whore_.”

John leaned up on her arms, her face a breath’s distance from Sherlock’s, looked deep into her lover’s eyes and said,

“ _Yours_.”

“ _John_.”

Sherlock’s voice broke. John sat up, and Sherlock took her hand.

“Oh, love,” cooed John when she felt the wetness between Sherlock’s legs, “Oh, _Sherlock_.” Sherlock shivered. John brought her fingers to her own mouth and licked.

“Don’t stop, John.”

“My dear girl, why on earth would I stop?” she teased in a posh voice, returning her hand to Sherlock’s clit. And so they sat, one hand guiding the other, filling the room with sighs and tiny moans, ‘Oh’s and ‘yes’s. Until John grunted impatiently,

“I want to rut.”

She straddled Sherlock’s thigh with Sherlock’s hand still cupping her. She bent her knees and rubbed against it. “Fuck me,” whispered John. Sherlock slowly and carefully pushed one finger into John’s cunt. John threw her head back and gave a loud, hollow groan. She followed Sherlock’s lead, thrusting a finger into Sherlock’s cunt. Sherlock rocked into John’s hand.

“More,” said Sherlock. It was a question and a plea. John’s thumb teased Sherlock’s clit and she pressed two fingers inside her. She nodded into Sherlock’s neck, and Sherlock did the same.

Then, John was rutting frantically.

“Yours, yours, yours, yours.” Sherlock was twisting and lifting her hips.

“John!”

John watched Sherlock come apart and then slammed into her thigh, her hand, her fingers curling just-so.

“ _There_ it is. Oh, love!”

When they released each other, the smell of sex lay heavy in the air. Sherlock took the folded blanket at the end of the sofa and wrapped it around their twined form.

“In-sa-tiable,” breathed Sherlock in John’s bare shoulder. She cast a side-ways glance at John’s face.

“I know, I know. It’s this crazy energy…it feels like…sweets…or…fizzy drinks.”

“What, sex?”

“No, the possibility of two people I care about falling in love. With each other. ”

Sherlock eyes widened, and she shook her head slowly.

John nuzzled and licked and nipped at a spot on Sherlock’s neck. Then, she lifted her head to catch Sherlock’s gaze. She raised an eyebrow and giggled.

Sherlock stared at her.

“Holy Fuck!”

John roared with laughter and pushed Sherlock down the sofa, climbing on top of her.

 

 

Some twenty minutes later, John was draped across Sherlock, weakly nuzzling her neck, mewling. Sherlock was drawing letters with her fingertips along John’s back.

“You’d better go.” She kissed John’s cheek. “Lestrade’ll be waiting.”

“She said she would text.”

“She did. Eight minutes ago.”

John sat up on the edge of the sofa and cast a puzzled looked toward her jeans.

“I didn’t…”

“Understandable. My tongue was in your cunt. You were busy: screaming, calling me a beast, begging me to fuck you.”

“Liar. You’re the screamer, love.”

Sherlock slipped her hand under the sofa and held her mobile out. She tapped it with her thumb.

_“Fuck me harder, you mad, sexy beast! Sherlock!”_

In a flash, John had grabbed the phone from Sherlock’s hand and was running down the hall. Sherlock chased her.

Seconds later, Sherlock had pinned John to the bed, the offending device in their clasped hands.

“Delete it. Or you’ll never hear it again,” threatened John.

“Let me keep it, and I’ll owe you a favor. _Anything_.”

John hummed.

“I’m repeating myself, John. _Anything_.”

“Okay.”

Sherlock tried—and failed—at not looking imperially smug.

John sighed, gazing at Sherlock’s nude body. “Alright,” she said as Sherlock collapsed on the bed beside her. John got up.

“Quick whore’s bath, and I’m gone.”

“How fitting,” teased Sherlock as John crossed the hall to the toilet.

John looked over her shoulder and gave a sexy pout. She wiggled her arse and then closed the door.

Sherlock gave a long wolf whistle and buried her grin in the duvet.

 


	5. Black Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lestrade and John go shopping for lipstick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John makes reference to an event that happened in [Chapter 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1190226/chapters/2460838) of [An Army Doctor (& a Consulting Doctor) in Paris](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1190226/chapters/2428395).

“Arrest that woman! Arrest her, Detective Inspector!”

Lestrade laughed.

“She attacked me with a spray bottle of glass cleaner!”

“I’m going to arrest you, Dr. Watson, for felonious smudging of that lady’s make-up counter with your grubby paws.”

“Police indifference is a plague.”

“Here’s one for you: [Wing Woman](http://www.benefitcosmetics.com/product/view/new-hydra-smooth-lip-color).” John looked to where Lestrade was pointing.

“Nah,” said John. “Not enough ‘umph’ for your purposes.”

“It’s strange, your enthusiasm for lipstick, when I’ve seen you wear it—what, maybe twice?”

“Sherlock wears the lipstick. I make the tea. Division of household responsibilities. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. Here’s one for you: [Perfect Fig](http://www.sephora.com/l-absolu-rouge-P244911?skuId=1131127).” John raised her eyebrows.

“You are a filthy girl, John Watson.”

“That’s why you love me. This color is nice. And the name’s appropriate. [Rendezvous](http://www.sephora.com/l-absolu-rouge-P244911?skuId=1131127).”

“Too shimmery. I need a matte.”

“A what?”

“Your lack of lipstick knowledge is quite embarrassing. I don’t know why I even have you here.”

“’Cause I have a PhD in Holmes women.”

“Ah. There _is_ that. This one’s actually called [Rosary](http://www.sephora.com/painted-love-lipstick-P211912?skuId=1133578). Jesus. I don’t think things will get very far if I’m thinking about that…”

“Yeah, one time Sherlock tried to seduce me by washing me with one of those stiff bath brushes.”

Lestrade looked at John.

“Reminded you of Sister Mary Francis and her purgatory lectures.”

“Yup. Needless to say, the brush disappeared very quickly.”

“Ha! These ones, [Cathedral](http://www.sephora.com/painted-love-lipstick-P211912?skuId=1133578) and [Ritual](http://www.sephora.com/painted-love-lipstick-P211912?skuId=1133578), they aren’t bad.”

“What about this one? [F-Bomb](http://www.urbandecay.com/urban-decay/lipstick%2C-lip-stain-%26-gloss/revolution-lipstick/378.html). Ha!”

“That’s very red, John. I don’t think I want to wear red lipstick. It’s just coffee. Not a date.”

“Then I guess [69](http://www.urbandecay.com/urban-decay/lipstick%2C-lip-stain-%26-gloss/revolution-lipstick/378.html) is out the question, too.” John gave a fake pout.

“You think that I am the kind of woman that just has coffee with someone and then, what? Without so much as a by-your-leave, drops her knickers?”

John stared at her and crossed her arms.

“That was just once!” cried Lestrade.

“And I am sure that the Brazilian ambassador was thrilled at the attention that his wife—“

“Daughter,” mumbled Lestrade, biting a fingernail.

“Greg! Jesus Christ!”

“Security detail for visiting foreign dignitaries is the most boring job in the world! There’s nothing to do but drink coffee…”

“…and shag.”

Lestrade shrugged.

“How about this one, [Lolita](http://www.sephora.com/painted-love-lipstick-P211912?skuId=1133578)? Or this one, [Underage Red](http://www.sephora.com/painted-love-lipstick-P211912?skuId=1133578)? That’s painting quite the line under it, isn’t it?”

Lestrade glared at her. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Three Continents Watson, about my choices.”

“No, you don’t. But I am going to state for the record: Mycroft Holmes is not some girl. She doesn’t need your mothering. Or your overdrawn bank account. Or your badge. Or a quick shag. So what does that leave you?”

“I don’t know,” said Lestrade slowly. “What else have I got?”

“You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know. Anyone I’ve ever met. And if she gets a taste of that, well, she’s done for. And you’re fun—which Mycroft probably hasn’t had since the Thatcher administration. And, I think, even though the job’s the job, when you come home, you’d actually like to come to a _home_ , someplace warm and inviting, someplace where you can… _nest_. Not that dismal flat. And maybe Mycroft wants that, too.”

“I’m too old to nest,” said Lestrade quietly.

“That’s not entirely true, and you know it.”

“Hannah.”

“Mary Margaret.”

“We’re British so I can’t hug you at the make-up counter.”

John held out her pinkie finger and twined it around Lestrade’s. They smiled at each other.

Lestrade sighed. Then, she said, “Let’s finish this. I have to get back.”

“Alright. Come on. Divide and conquer; it’ll go quicker.”

 

Some minutes later, they met.

“I could only find one. [Vintage](http://www.dior.com/beauty/en_us/fragrance-and-beauty/makeup/lips/lipsticks/pr-lipsticks-Y0028600-vibrant-color-spectacular-shine.html),” said Lestrade; she held up her wrist with a rosy brown streak across it.

“I found two. [Sugar Maple ](http://www.toofaced.com/p/lipsticks/la-creme/bumbleberry-satin-garnet/)and [Cinnamon Kiss](http://www.toofaced.com/p/lipsticks/la-creme/bumbleberry-satin-garnet/).” John held up her wrists. Lestrade stared at the three colours. Finally, she said,

“Cinnamon Kiss.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner,” said John with a grin.

 

The sales clerk was ringing up Lestrade’s purchase while John idly surveyed the displays on the counter.

“So what are you going to wear for your date? Your Detective Inspector clothes or something more…?"

“I keep telling you, John. It isn’t a date. It’s just coffee.”

“It’s nearly a date. Almost a date. Hey, how about this one?”

“Thank you,” said Lestrade to the clerk; she took the small bag.

“Greg, what about [this one](http://www.clinique.com/product/7749/4772/Almost-Lipstick/index.tmpl)? It’s almost lipstick for your almost date.”

“It is nice,” said Lestrade as John rubbed it on her wrist, “But I just bought one.”

“Just try it,” said John. “Excuse me, miss, can we get one of those?” John put the colour from the tester on a swab and painted Lestrade’s lips. Then, she turned her friend to the mirror on the counter.

“Wow,” said Lestrade. She shook her head, “But I can’t be spending….”

“My treat. We’ll take one of these,” she said to the sales clerk.

“What’s it called?” asked Lestrade.

“Black Honey,” said the clerk.

John raised her eyebrows. “In that case, I’ll take two,” she said.


	6. Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mystrade is discussed and deferred.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by NARS [Sheer Lipstick in Damage](http://www.narscosmetics.co.uk/color/lips/sheer-lipstick/damage).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's pig experiment is mentioned in [A Frankly Alarming Shade of Pink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1503194).

When John returned to 221B, Sherlock was lying on the sofa in her dressing gown, reading a journal.

“So, Sugar Maple or Cinnamon Kiss?”

“Neither, Miss Proper Genius. A gift. For you. In honour of our retirement planning.”

John tossed a small, thin box at Sherlock.

“Ah,” said Sherlock. She took out the tube and twisted it. “Black Honey. Thank you.”

“So…?” asked John, expectantly, nodding at the lipstick.

“Hmmm,” Sherlock studied the colour, “Mycroft will like it.”

John squealed and launched herself onto Sherlock, peppering her face and neck with kisses.

 

Sometime later, they were naked in Sherlock’s bed. Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s scarred shoulder.

“John, there’s a high probability that Mycroft and Lestrade won’t work. Personalities, schedules, histories…”

“I know, I know. Lestrade typically dates women half her age. They use her, for money, protection, escaping jealous boyfriends and close-minded parents, trying to ‘find themselves’—she’s practically a one-woman lesbian Gap Year—they cheat and then they leave.”

“Mycroft uses—and cheats—entire nations for a living.”

John sighed. “What’s the probability, Sherlock? The actual probability?”

“Point nine seven.”

Silence. Then, John whispered,

“But, oh God, that three percent. They would blot out the sun.”

Sherlock smiled. “Not the moon?”

“No, love. That would be us.”

 

 

Later, John was shuffling around the kitchen, making tea.

“Sherlock, I want my favor.”

“What’s that?” Sherlock didn’t look up from her computer.

“I want to put that lipstick on you.”

Sherlock smiled. “Okay.”

John got the tube and twisted it. Very slowly, she brushed it across Sherlock’s top lip and then her bottom. Sherlock pressed her lips together and then pursed them.

John smiled. They kissed.

“May I?” asked Sherlock.

John looked nervous. She bit her lip.

“Just for fun,” said Sherlock lightly. John nodded.

Sherlock applied the lipstick with a steady hand.

“Beautiful.”

John's face darkened. She dropped her eyes and turned and shuffled back to the kitchen, drawing Sherlock’s dressing gown tighter around herself.

“I know what I am and what I am not,” she mumbled quickly, “I’m not a witness or a suspect. You don’t have to do that thing you do.” She handed a steaming mug to Sherlock, not looking at her and, therefore, not seeing the panic in Sherlock’s eyes.

“I was…just…talking about the lipstick. It’s beautiful. Lestrade will look really good in it.”

“Yeah,” agreed John, looking at the wall and then stealing a half-glance at Sherlock. “We looked at so many colours…”

“Tell me about them.” Sherlock closed the top to her computer and sipped her tea. She turned in the desk chair.

“Well,” said John, smiling, walking toward Sherlock with her tea. Sherlock reached out her arms, and John curled in her lap. “There was Perfect Fig…”

 

 

**Curry tonight? JW**

**Fine. Headed back to Vet College for pigs. SH**

**3! Not 8! JW**

**So??? JW**

**M cancelled. Work trip. Will reschedule next week. GL**

 

John was relieved that Sherlock could not read the disappointment in her face. She stared at her mobile.

“Umm, John?”

John started and turned.

“Yes, Sarah?”

“We really need your help this week…”

 

 

John took the stairs slowly, dreading Sherlock’s “I told you so.” When she reached the sitting room, her mouth dropped open. The entire floor was covered in plastic tarpaulins and pieces of pig. She heard Sherlock scurrying around the kitchen, but she kept on going up to her room and closed the door. Neither woman mentioned the curry.

 

_“Hullo, Harry, this is your sister. Yes, I can help you and the missus move this weekend. If you need help packing, let me know. I’m taking some extra shifts at the surgery this week, but my evenings are free. Okay. Bye.”_

 

_Beep!_

John put the heavy box down, wiped her brow with the bottom of her shirt, and took her phone out of her back pocket.

**Wednesday! GL**

She smiled.

 

 

_Knock, knock!_

John stumbled to the door. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

“Case!” cried Sherlock through a mouthful of hairpins. She was fully clothed, wearing the Belstaff, and, John looked down at her feet, sturdy black boots. She was twisting her hair and securing it tightly against her head.

“Three. Prostitutes. Whitechapel. Removal of organs.”

John grabbed her trousers and then slumped back on her bed.

“Jack the Ripper!” she complained to an empty doorway. Sherlock was thumping down the stairs.

“Jack the Ripper strikes again, today! It’s Wednesday!”

 

 

Ten hours later, Sherlock was staring at her case wall: a collection of maps with pins and notations, photographs, clipped articles, and drawings.

John was looking at the telly, watching Lestrade answering questions from a frenzied group of reporters, swarming like piranhas.

Mr. Hudson came up beside her.

“Black Honey,” said John. She pointed to the screen.

“It’s really lovely, John. Brings out the highlights in her hair."

“Yeah.”

Mr. Hudson put his arm around John. “Why don’t you come downstairs for a cuppa?”

She shook her head. “You never know…” she looked at Sherlock.

At that moment, Sherlock gasped loudly and exclaimed, “John! Let’s go!”

Five days later, John lay down in her bed fully-clothed and slept for fourteen hours.

 

 

 


	7. Digitalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a realization comes surprisingly tardy to a Proper Genius.
> 
> Inspired by Obsessive Compulsive Cosmetics [Lip Tar Matte in Digitalis](http://occmakeup.com/collections/lips-1/products/lip-tar-matte).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's schedule of cleaning the linoleum on Thursdays is mentioned in [Night Ferry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1172915/chapters/2389043).

Sherlock dropped the flask. And swore.

Through goggled eyes, she saw the green substance bubble and ooze among the glass shards on the dirty linoleum floor.

“Dirty?” whispered Sherlock to an empty flat. She pushed the goggles to her head and stared at the floor.

“Two weeks’ worth of dirt. But John always does the lino on… _Thursdays_. The last time John cleaned the floor…”

Sherlock tossed the metal tongs beside the Bunsen burner and walked to the refrigerator. She opened the door.

“Nothing in.”

She took off her thick gloves and tapped her fingers to her lips.

“The last time John did the shopping…”

She looked with trepidation toward the cupboard and walked slowly toward it. She took down the tea tin and removed the lid. She gasped.

“No tea!”

She slumped against the counter.

“The last time John made tea, the last time we slept in the same bed, the last time we had sex, the last time a smile reached all the way to John’s eyes…”

Sherlock put her hands at her temples and closed her eyes.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Sherlock quickly checked her mobile. She swore again.

She dropped a tea towel on the mess on the floor, turned off the burner, grabbed her coat and flew down the stairs.


	8. Cava

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Holmes sisters negotiate.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by BITE BEAUTY [Luminous Crème Lipstick in Cava](http://www.sephora.com/luminous-creme-lipstick-P283903?skuId=1611284).

“Skulking. How appropriate,” said Mycroft.

Sherlock emerged from behind a tree and approached her sister.

“I may be some years removed from fieldwork, but I can still spot a tail. Especially when said tail is a…”

“Younger? More attractive? _Slimmer?_ ”

“…a more _juvenile_ version of my own.”

The two women saw their reflection in the polished gravestone.

“This _coffee_ with Lestrade. Make it happen. Now.”

“Not your affair.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Sister Dear. It is affecting my lino and my tea tin and…”

“John.”

“Yes.”

“That’s the only thing that would bring you here.” Mycroft pointed to the gravestone with the bouquet of lilac-coloured roses in her hand.

“John…is… _sad_.”

“An unfortunate but perpetual state of being, I would expect, given her choice of domestic partner.”

“She’s become quite _invested_ in this meeting of yours. The delay is _affecting_ her—and distracting her from more important matters.”

“Not my concern,” Mycroft replied coldly.

“Really?” said Sherlock. “That a brave, beautiful woman—a woman who, by the way, will go to her grave never acknowledging or recognizing said bravery or beauty—is _disappointed_ in you, Mycroft. You are _upsetting_ her, this quixotically romantic—and yes, let’s call a spade a spade, _damaged_ —women who cares for you, unconditionally, resolutely. That is ‘not your concern’. Of course, it isn’t,” she sneered.

Sherlock picked one of the roses from Mycroft’s bundle, pinched the stem off, and secured it in the buttonhole of her coat.

“Your attempt at manipulation is pathetic,” hissed Mycroft.

“I don’t care as long as it’s effective. Make it happen.”

“Why is she invested?”

“I don’t know…”

“How harrowing for you.”

“She… _ships_ …you and Lestrade.”

Mycroft frowned. “As in boat? Fleet? Armada?”

“No, relation _ship_. She fancies you and Lestrade in a relation _ship_. Quite besotted with the idea, actually.”

“It’s coffee. Not a betrothal.”

“Oh, it won’t work. Of that, I have no doubt. Lestrade, for all her faults, is normal, ‘a woman’s woman’ according to John, whatever _that_ means, and _you_ are…most decidedly… _not_. You will bungle it, so badly, so quickly, that the coffee will still be quite hot when she makes her excuses. But the possibility that it might work is still dangling in the air. So, make it happen. It will be awful, it will be over, and I will console a disappointed John _thoroughly_ ,” Sherlock let last word linger a moment, “and we’ll all move on. And my tea tin will be full again.”

“Sounds quite one-sided. You negotiate like a toddler.”

“Cases. Free of charge.”

“How many?”

Sherlock took a deep breath.

“As many as you want.”

Mycroft looked at her sister for the first time. She turned back to the gravestone.

“And you call _John_ a romantic? Well, you _did_ originally want to be a pirate. How can you care so much?” she asked.

“You once cared for something that much.”

“It was just a dog. Many lifetimes ago.”

“And we both cared for someone. Once upon a time.” Sherlock paused, “She was beautiful.”

“Brave,” said Mycroft, bending and placing the flowers on the grave.

“Romantic.”

“Sad.”

“Damaged.”

They stood in silence.

Then, Mycroft turned to her sister. She cleared her throat and said,

“Tell your lady I shan’t disappoint her further.”

 


	9. Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which all's well that ends well, except for a dog.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Marc Jacobs [Lovemarc Lip Gel in Happy Ending](http://www.marcjacobs.com/beauty/lips-and-nails/coslipgel/lovemarc--lip-gel?sort=).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olga is an original character, introduced in [Chapter 8](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135128/chapters/2298599) of [Backstory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135128/chapters/2294789) and mentioned in the last chapter of [Ash Wednesday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1225717/chapters/2511679). Sherlock found John drown in the bath in [Impaired Judgment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1124308/chapters/2266160), which explains Sherlock's initial reaction.

“No, no, no!”

John’s legs and feet were visible from behind the toilet. Sherlock heard her grunt.

“John!”

“Ugh!” said John, sitting up with screwdriver in hand. “Hello, love. Seat was so wobbly, I nearly slid off and cracked my tailbone. Give us a hand.”

Sherlock let out the breath she’d be holding in and pulled John to her feet. John put the screwdriver on the back of the sink and washed her hands.

“John, about Lestrade and Mycroft…”

“Not gonna happen. Lestrade had to kill Olga.”

“Who?”

John huffed and looked at Sherlock in the mirror. “Her dog. She took it to the vet and there was nothing for it. Tumor in the spleen. They say that they’re common in German Sheppards. Lestrade’s distraught, of course. In no mood for love. Or coffee.” John dried her hands. “I’m over it, Sherlock. You were right and I was wrong. I just got caught up in the possibility…” Sherlock followed John down the hall.

“Angelo’s?” asked John. “There’s absolutely nothing in and I’m starving. I want to stop by and check on Lestrade afterwards.”

“Alright. But…” Sherlock held out John’s jacket. She slipped it on. They headed down the stairs.

“Thank God I’ve got tomorrow off because I am going to restore some domestic hygiene and order to this place. Shopping. Laundry. Fix the curtain. A bit—and by ‘bit’, I mean a whole morning’s worth—of tidying. And you,” John turned and pointed a finger at Sherlock’s sternum, “had better whip up an antidote to whatever’s under that tea towel in the kitchen. If your Little Shop of Horrors juice has eaten through my lino, there will be words…” John continued down the stairs.

“But John, about Mycroft and Lestrade…”

“I seriously doubt that the Ice Bitch is going to have any sympathy for a dead dog.”

A wide smile broke across Sherlock’s face. She schooled her features into bland disinterest by the time John held the front door open for her.

“Quite.”

 

**SHERLOCK! There’s an Evil Black Car in front of Lestrade’s building! JW**

**Come home. Now. SH**

**Yes, ma’am. JW**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm quite out of inspiration for the moment for this series. Feel free to drop a prompt (i.e., a shade of lipstick) in the comments, and we'll see what tickles the muse.
> 
> Cheers & Kisses!


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